


A Revised History of Magic : Part One

by AmeliaVonTattenbaum



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Rating May Change, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmeliaVonTattenbaum/pseuds/AmeliaVonTattenbaum
Summary: With over 500 years of living under her belt and a rather unorthodox way of viewing history, Ailabeth McFarley takes up the mantle of Professor of History of Magic at Hogwarts when Professor Binns suddenly retires. So when the The Chamber of Secrets opens, and the prejudice and fear amongst the Hogwarts Houses hits a new low, Aila finds herself neck-deep in mystery and trouble. Hopefully knowing her history with help her find a way to not repeat it.





	A Revised History of Magic : Part One

The little inn on the corner of Diagon Alley and Bismuth Lane had always been there. The creaky faded purple sign that hung above the door read, “McFarley’s Inn, Restaurant, & Bar” in worn gold paint, and even the oldest shopkeepers in the neighborhood would say that McFarley’s had been there long before they’d ever learned to hold a wand. Despite it’s faded appearance, or perhaps because of it, McFarley’s often found itself filled with a similar kind of people: a little worn on the edges, but usually warm and kind at heart. Hogwarts professors would often opt to stay there on occasion during the summer, as the quiet nature of both McFarley’s and of Bismuth Lane in general provided a quiet place away from the traffic and general hullabaloo. The inn also hosted its fair share of Hogwarts students every year, some with their parents and occasionally some all alone, but always watched over energetically by the inn’s rather eccentric owner.

To say that Ailabeth McFarley was a bit odd would be quite the polite understatement, especially according to the local Muggle population. Which is not to say that the Muggles of Great Britain often found themselves in the Scotswoman’s presence; it’s just that when they did, they tended to remember the encounter for a good long while. Between her very large head of curly ginger hair, her Renaissance fair-type wardrobe, and the very large Osprey that liked to perch on her shoulder, Muggles often found her quite difficult to forget, though Aila usually found the Muggles themselves a tad too boring to remember. There had been one incident at one point that had involved a quite rotund, screaming little blond boy, and his equally rotund and angry father in a bakery across from the Grunnings drill company building in London a few years ago. Aila still liked to chuckle about that incident every so often, especially when she had to take the Muggle bus past Grunnings and that particular bakery.

Aila thought herself to be reasonably normal, if admittedly more enthusiastic than some of her more proper minded neighbors. But then, Aila reasoned to herself, when one has surpassed the ripe old age of 500, one is allowed to be a touch more unusual than most, no? Not that she looked it; most days Aila barely managed to look a day over 40, and it’d taken a very special, nebulous sort of magic to ward the inn so that its patrons never really questioned what such a young looking lass was doing behind the bar, or the fact that Aila had owned McFarley’s for almost a thousand years. Most folks assumed that the lass their grandparents and great-grandparents had known must have been one of Aila’s long-dead relatives, and not Aila herself. The human mind has always had a funny way of explaining away the extraordinary, Aila thought fondly, and as her great-great-great grandfather Ignotus had often said, “A man will never accept what he cannot understand.” With a soft sigh, Aila shook herself from her thoughts, placing the last of the clean glasses from the drying rack onto the shelves beneath the bar, and turned back to the untidy spread of parchment scattered in front of her.

It had been an idea that she’d toyed with for decades. She’d always loved history, and it’d always irked her that historians always seemed to find the most boring way to write about things, and how they’d gloss over what it was like to actually live in the very time periods that they wrote about. Besides, she’d read some of the best selling biographies that graced Flourish and Blott’s front window every few months, and if something that terribly pretentious and dull could become so successful, then she could write and publish a history book.

So the beginning of July found Aila with an almost empty inn and an armload of recordings from a Quick-Quotes Quill. It’d taken almost a year to get through the dry boringness of the Goblin Wars, and another eight months of research to make sense of what had happened in the muggle world while the wizards were busy terrorizing goblins. Aila sighed again, glaring briefly at the mess of edits and notes that made up her manuscript so far. She hadn’t been able to find any memories from family members about the muggle world in the Dark Ages, so she’d had to borrow a mountain of history books from several different muggle libraries, just to get a decently unbiased account of what had happened. A screech yanked Aila from her thoughts with a jump and a yelp as a very enthusiastic barn owl drop The Daily Prophet on the bar, tossing her messy manuscript into the air and onto the floor. Rolling her eyes, Aila tossed the silly owl a treat and a Knut, and began gathering the scattered parchment pieces. The owl screeched again and took off through the open door, leaving a feather or two in its wake.

“Gemma!” A brown-haired girl appeared from the kitchen, a hand towel in her hands and a colorful headscarf wrapped around her kinky black hair.

“Yeah, Aila? What’s up?”

“Can you watch the bar for me for a minute? I need to take these upstairs, and Silvia should be here any minute.” Gemma grinned, tossing the towel over her shoulder.

“Of course!”

Aila smiled back, grateful for the cheerful help. Both Gemma and Silvia had lived down the street their entire lives, and Aila had hired the eager pair of Slytherins when they were 13 to be housekeepers during the summer holidays. Now, at 17 and getting ready to start her seventh year at Hogwarts, both girls were invaluable assets to the inn, regardless of their House. Aila snorted, gathering the last of the parchment and the Daily Prophet into her arms. Sorting children. What a load of utter rubbish. Knocking the swinging door behind the bar open with her hip, Aila slipped quietly up the stairs and into her apartment above the inn.

Unlike the clean, open style of McFarley’s, Aila’s apartment looked more like an old lady’s living room. Bookshelves full of books and odd knick-knacks lined the walls, and a rather alarmingly large green plant had its vines spread across the entire ceiling of the roomy office. One book case with glass doors took up an entire wall, and it’s shelves were filled with colorful, animated ceramic busts of very old, very wrinkly people. Most of the heads seemed to be attempting to sleep, or at least faking it fairly well, while a pair of men on the top shelf appeared to be actively arguing about something of incredible importance, though their voices stayed trapped behind the doors. Between the case full of busts and the large unlit fireplace, a giant Osprey falcon perched on a tall stand, his bright eyes watchful. A giant antique loom took up one corner of the living room, an unfinished piece on display. Besides it, an old spinning wheel stood empty, no basket of wool to be seen. The large desk at the center of the room was covered in stacks of papers, in the sort of messy organization that only the creator could hope to understand. One clay bust of an especially wrinkly-looking old lady sat snoring on one corner of the desk, and if she’d been alive, there surely would’ve been an impressive puddle of drool underneath her sagging chin. Placing the manuscript down lovingly on a clean spot on the desk, Aila unfolded the newspaper.

_**GILDEROY LOCKHART PUBLISHES BIOGRAPHY, “MAGICAL ME”** _

“What a bunch of dung,” Aila growled, and the Osprey shrieked in agreement, shaking out his wings. “I couldn’t agree more, Clyde.” She tossed the newspaper in the vague direction of the waste basket without looking, ignoring the thwack of the rolled newspaper against the bookshelf. The wire basket snapped to life and excitedly scooped up the paper and gobbled it down eagerly, shredding it into pieces. Despite the noise, the bust on the desk snored on, and Aila too ignored the energetic ripping sound, pulling the random mess of papers on her desk towards her. “That bumbling fool wouldn’t know a pixie from a doxy if they both bit him on the nose.” Still grumbling, Aila began shuffling piles of paper together, placing the final giant stack to the side. With a wave of a hand, a file drawer slid open, and the papers began franticly sorting themselves between the file folders and the very happy waste basket. Out of the way of the flurry of paper, Aila dragged open a desk drawer and set a colored ink set and a box of quills on the desk. Flipping through the manuscript pages, she found where she’d left off, and dipped a quill into a small pot of bright red ink.

Oddly enough, Aila had never really enjoyed using a wand. Her first wand had been made long before Ollivander had been born, and back then wandless magic wasn’t so uncommon as it was in the present day. Of course, for the first few decades Aila had had to go back to the damn wand shop to get a new wand every few years, since she had an awful tendency to forget where she’d put the silly thing, and would end up sitting on and snapping it. But by the time she’d reached 300, Aila decided to just keep the blasted thing in a vase by the door next to the bowl of keys, for when she needed to go out somewhere that she might need it. Better safe than sorry. And though she’d kept enough of the family house elves to help run the inn and help with errands, Aila had always been fond of doing things the Muggle way: by hand, one at a time, and slowly, a habit that occasionally drove both Gemma and Silvia just a little bit spare.

The minutes ticked by slowly on the grandfather clock by the door, and quiet settled on the room. The scratch of the quill tip became rhythmic and steady, and after about thirty minutes of peaceful writing, Aila finished editing the chapter, and set down her quill.

“There, that’s that done with.” Gently scooping the still sleeping bust from her desk, Aila walked to the glass case of busts and opened the door. The sound of wheezy, bickering voices exploded into the air, and Aila flinched, nearly dropping the old woman’s bust.

“- and I’ll have yeh know that he did nothing of the sort, yeh old pile o’ dragon dung!” spat a rather round, jiggly-looking face in a rough voice. “My father was a faithful and devoted man from the day he was born to the day he died!”

The narrow-jawed face next to him scoffed at the jiggly man and sneered nastily. “I know for a fact that Jeremiah Campbell the Third was a scoundrel, a rake, and a liar all his days, and his progeny are all no different!” Several offended voices rose up, no longer pretending to sleep, and by the time half of them had said their piece, the other half had gotten their breath back (metaphorically speaking) to continue whatever point they’d been trying to make. Aila placed the now very awake and irritated bust from in her arms carefully in the one empty spot on the third shelf, and put her hands on her hips.

“OI! Shut it, the lot o’ you!!”When the whole of the busts ignored her, she waved a hand in a wandless, silent “silencio”, and sighed in relief at the sudden forced silence. After a moment, once the entire case had realized their own muteness

and stopped shouting, Aila smiled.

“Now Nicolas, Jeremiah Campbell the Third was in fact a very good, very kind man, and he was just as faithful to his wife and ken as our Jeremiah here is claiming.” The two men began silently shouting again, and Aila rolled her eyes. “Gentlemen!” Nicolas and Jeremiah both snapped their jaws shut, looking furious. “However, from what I understand, you’re thinking of Jeremiah Campbell the Second, who was a rake and a scoundrel, and wouldn’t know the meaning of the word ‘faithful’ to save his life. Three of his wives are actually sitting on the row beneath yours, so if you’d like to check my facts, feel free to do so.” Nicolas’s long face shifted from angry to sheepish, while Jeremiah beside him simply looked unbearably smug. “Now if everyone is done shouting and carrying on...?” All the faces nodded their wrinkly faces, some looking for chastened than others, and Aila waved a hand to let them speak. “Lovely, now: I’ve just finished the section on the Salem Witch Trials and the International Statute of Secrecy, and the next bit is on the Industrial Revolution in the Muggle world. Would anyone like to go first?” A few of the faces looked at each other, unimpressed, while a woman with beautiful red and white streaked hair on the fifth shelf up looked at her with polite confusion.

“Ailabeth darling, why all the fuss about the muggle world? Surely it’s not interesting enough to bother including it in a wizard’s book?” Multiple faces nodded along, mumbling their agreement, though a few on the second shelf rolled their eyes. Aila smiled sadly at her great-great-great-great-great niece, and shook her head.

“Mary Elizabeth, if you could only see what the muggle folk have accomplished without magic, you’d be amazed. Did you know that they’ve been to the moon?” Mary Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Muggles have accomplished things with their minds and their own hands that wizarding kind could never hope to achieve. They’ve sent special machines into space to explore the stars and send back pictures, they’ve studied and catalogued thousands and millions of different kinds of animals from across the planet, and they’ve found ways to fly up in the clouds faster than the fastest broom.” Several faces shook their heads and scoffed, while the rest of the heads just listened in fascinated awe. “And just think: there’s a world full of wizards out there who think that because they’re born with magic, that that makes them better than those who were born without.” Aila’s smile turned sad. “Millions of people have died, in our world and theirs, because of people who think that one kind of person is inherently better than another.” Aila reached out and cupped Mary Elizabeth’s face with a hand. “So that’s why I’m writing our history side by side with theirs, my dear: because if even one wizard understood that muggles and wizards aren’t so different, then maybe they’ll be a little better for it, and that’s all I need.” Mary Elizabeth nodded, her eyes sad and thoughtful, and Aila moved away to crouch down and look at a warm-looking man’s face with an impressive beard on the bottom shelf. “Thomas, you were friends with several American muggle inventors, weren’t you?”

“Yes, my dear. I used to have lunch and talk shop with old James Watt himself. One of the brightest men I’ve ever met, and with a sense of humor to boot.” Aila carefully pulled Thomas’ bust from the shelf, closing the glass door of the case gently with one hip, and placed him on the desk. Rifling through a drawer, she pulled out a green Quick-Quotes Quill and a fresh leaflet of parchment.

“Now, I’ve got to go check on the inn, and I’ve got tea with Minnie at three o’clock sharp, so I’m gonna leave you with a quick quotes quill, okay? Just start at the beginning, say whatever you like, and I’ll edit and correct it when you’re done.”

Thomas beamed happily. “Don’t you worry, Ailabeth. I remember it all like it happened yesterday. Now, let’s see... yes, I met James on a Tuesday in April, in Greenock, just before his wedding...” Thomas kept on going, the green quill keeping along with his monologue. Smiling fondly at the sweet old man, Aila slipped out, locked the apartment door behind her, and descended back down into the inn.

\-------------

Lunchtime was always the most interesting part of the day. With Gringotts Bank right across the square and various shops around the corner, McFarley’s often found itself full of Diagon Alley’s shop workers on their lunch break, along with the wizards and witches that worked at Gringotts during the day. The Gringotts goblins never stopped by, but after a very enthusiastic conversation a couple decades ago between Aila and a few of the older goblins about the unfair ownership practices of goblin gold among pureblood wizards and the biased standpoint of popular history, the goblins were all too happy to order their odd lunch choices fresh from McFarley’s kitchen, and Aila was grateful for the honor. The steady flow of orders and customers kept Aila and the girls busy, and kept the house elves in the kitchen very happy. So of course, by the time Aila made it back to the restaurant portion of the inn, many of the tables were already full, and Silvia was very grateful for the extra set of serving hands.

Two and a half hours later, the lunch rush had finally slowed down to enough of a crawl for Aila to sit down, her hair having tried desperately to escape its ties, with only some success. The girls giggled behind the bar as Aila pulled her scrunchy free, letting her hair poof out into a giant cloud. She rolled her eyes with a smile.

“Alright you two, does one of you want to help me braid this monstrosity, or are you gonna just stand there and laugh at me?”

A strong Scottish voice piped in. “Aila dear, it would take an army to tame that mane of yours, and even then I’m not convinced it would work.”

“Minnie!” Aila cried, spinning round on the bar stool. Gemma and Silvia sobered at the arrival of the Gryffindor professor, though Minerva gave both girls a kind smile. Aila forced her hair back into some semblance of a ponytail and enveloped her friend in an enthusiastic hug, then turned to the two solemn Slytherins. “We’ll be in the Daisy Room if you need me, girls.” And with that, Aila led Minnie away by the arm.

Despite the inn’s small appearance from the outside, McFarley’s actually had a rather impressive number of rooms. The bar and restaurant took up the spacious basement, while the actual inn portion occupied the ground floor and wound through a very impressive, very regal hallway that seemed to never end. Nobody had ever really figured out just how many rooms McFarley’s had to offer, though a couple of the older Hogwarts students claimed to have stayed in Room 394. Whether or not that was true, however, remained to be seen.

The tea rooms on the ground floor were one of Aila’s best ideas. Small but well organized, and each named and designed after a different flower theme, they gave off an air of elegance and sophistication that most regular wizards rarely experienced. The tea rooms were reserved regularly by various parties in need of a quiet place to eat, or a neutral place for a meeting. The Daisy Room was Aila’s favorite, the soft yellow and white creating a comforting aura, and the spelled glass windows letting in only a tiny fraction of the noise coming from Diagon Alley below. As the two women took their seats at a glass table, a young house elf in a daisy-printed sundress popped into the room with a crack.

“Hello Mistress, hello Ms. MaGonagolly! What can Lolly doos for yous?” Normally, Minerva would’ve cringed more than a little at the painful butchering of her name, but she’d heard it so many times from Aila’s house elves that at this point, it barely registered.

“Finger sandwiches and scones with a full tea service, please, Lolly,” Aila directed gently, and Minerva nodded with a small smile.

“Yes Mistress! Lolly will be right back with tea for yous!” And with another crack, Lolly disappeared.

“Lolly’s a bit new, as you might be able to tell. A cousin of mine passed away, and his daughter didn’t want the poor dear, so I offered to take her in.” Minerva hummed, giving the eager house elf a larger smile as she Apparated back into the room with a large, very full tea tray carefully balanced on her head. Lolly slowly slid the tray onto the table, gave a bow, and popped quickly out of the room and back, presumably, to the kitchens.

“Eager little thing, I imagine she’ll do well here.”

Aila hummed in agreement, pouring Minerva’s tea and then her own. “I certainly hope so. Holly and Dolly have taken to teaching her, and she’s settled in quite well so far.” She held the tray of sandwiches out to Minerva. “How are things at Hogwarts? It’s been a year since I’ve seen you, and from the Prophet I imagine this past June was quite the headache.”

Minerva groaned a little under her breath. “Albus Dumbledore may be a brilliant wizard, but there are days I question just what goes on in his brain. To think putting an artifact like Flamel’s famous Stone within the school would be a good plan, putting hundreds of students at risk! The governors have been sending letters, and we’ve all been called in to the Wizengamot to testify.”

“To think a couple of underage students managed to get through all those obstacles. You’d think it would’ve been a bit more difficult, since the goal was to prevent You-Know-Who from getting in.”

Minerva gave her a wry look. “You’ve no idea the trouble some of the wee first years can get into, snooping about the castle at night. And the Weasley twins! We haven’t had such trouble makers since James Potter and his crew.”

Aila smiled wistfully into her tea cup. She remembered James Potter and his Marauders fondly, and it’d been a very painful day when she’d gotten the news that James and Lily had been murdered, with Sirius off to Azkaban to boot for Peter’s death, and poor Remus all alone. The four boys had been some of Aila’s favorite regular’s at the inn, and though they hadn’t known it, both James and Sirius had been relatives of hers, though very very distant. Outliving your progeny by centuries did have some perks. Not many, but a few.

“Is it true that a first year got past your chess set?”

Minerva laughed. “Yes, Ronald Weasley. The boy’s got a brain for chess, though not so much for classes, unfortunately.”

“Well I’m sure once he finds his forte, he’ll do just fine. Look at his brothers. They’ve all got a knack for physical work and learning on their feet. Maybe this one is the same.” Another set of her distant progeny, the Prewetts. Mmm, she ought to give Muriel a visit, see if the cantankerous woman was still going strong.

Minerva nodded. “I hope so. I’d bet my Galleons that he’ll want to be an auror someday, mark my words. That Potter boy too, I reckon.”

Aila started a little, her tea cup clinking just slightly. “Harry Potter’s one of your Gryffindors, then?”

Minerva nodded. “He’s a sweet boy, though a bit distrusting of authority, I reckon. Merlin knows Severus complains to high heaven about how the boy is ‘just like his father,’ but I just can’t see it.”

“Well those boys did give Severus a very difficult time in school, it wouldn’t surprise me if the poor man has yet to move on.”

“No, I imagine not. Though undoubtably we’ll all be having a rather tiresome school year to come. With Quirrell... passed on, we’re in need of another Defense teacher, and if no one capable shows up, the only option will be Gilderoy Lockhart.”

Aila choked on her scone, and tried very hard not to spray crumbs across the table. She swallowed with difficulty. “Gilderoy Lockhart? Dumbledore wants to hire that prat to teach children? Has he read any of Lockhart’s books? He’s useless! I can guarantee that that man hasn’t done even a fraction of what he says he has.”

Minerva gave her a funny look, sipping politely from her cup. “Oh I very much agree with you, but no one else has applied for the position, and everyone we’ve spoken with is adamantly uninterested, so unless you plan to apply for the position, there’s little you or I can do. Which reminds me, you saw today’s paper, yes?”

“Oh yes I did, though I can’t say I did more than glance at the first page. Why Lockhart bothered to write a biography when he’s written about plenty of his adventures already is beyond me.”

“Then you missed the small article regarding Professor Binn’s retirement?”

“I’m sorry, what? How does a ghost retire?”

Minerva pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from her cloak pocket, flipped through the large papers for a moment, and then handed a page for Aila to read.

_**HOGWARTS HISTORY TEACHER RETIRES AFTER OVER 300 YEARS OF TEACHING** _

_**Professor Bartholomew J. Binns, the History of Magic instructor at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for 317 years, has officially and rather unexpectedly retired. Binns was originally hired by Headmaster Julius A. Merriweather, who was well known as one of Hogwarts’ strictest headmasters, as well as one of the few headmasters to have received their education in Ravenclaw House. Although Binns was unavailable for comment, Professor Filius Flitwick, the current Charms instructor at Hogwarts, told us that although Binns has decided to retire, he has decided to still reside at Hogwarts and to spend his well-earned and well over-do retirement the Hogwarts Ghosts.** _

_**Due to the unexpected nature of Binns’ retirement, Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has stated that the position of History of Magic instructor is now open for application, as is the position as the professor of Defense Against The Dark Arts. To apply, please contact either Dumbledore or Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.** _

_**Xander McAllister, Reporter for the Daily Prophet** _

Mesmerized, Aila read and reread the very brief article, her brain going a mile a minute. An open position teaching History of Magic, a position that held the opportunity to influence and help the rising generation of Great Britain’s magical community.

Minerva ignored Aila’s distraction, instead picking from the tray of sweet tarts. “We’ve had five applications come in so far, only two of which really fit what we’re looking for. Since the disaster in June however, Albus is insistent that the time will soon come that You-Know-Who will return.”

“Wait, what?”

“I know, as crazy as it sounds, but Albus has yet to be wrong about this sort of thing, and it doesn’t hurt to prepare for the worst, however terrible that may be. At his request, the House Heads have been holding dozens of meetings to try and resolve the issue of animosity and prejudice between the Houses, especially between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but we’ve yet to find a solution.” Minerva sighed lowly, patted the newspaper between them. “I was hoping you would be willing to consider applying for the History position, as well as consider what we could do to strengthen the unity of Hogwarts.” She looked tired, and Aila was suddenly reminded that this was no longer the six-year-old little Minnie that she’d met all those years ago in Diagon Alley, lost without her mum and babbling seriously in her strong Scottish brogue. No, this was a weathered war veteran and a strong Gryffindor alumni, and she’d been through more than most.

Aila hummed, looking back down at the article. “I’m most definitely interested in this position, so you can expect my application soon, but other than simply dissolving the Houses, I’m not sure what ideas I could possibly come up with that could help.”

“Oh, I’m sure the Board of Governors would love that suggestion. No, I believe that option is most certainly out of the question.” She reached into her pocket again and pulled out a packet of parchment with a wry smile. “I had an inkling you’d be interested in the position, so I went ahead and brought an application. Go ahead and send it to Hogwarts when you’ve finished it, and I’ll be sure to tell you what Albus thinks. Knowing you, I’m sure he’ll want you to come for an interview, if only just to meet you.”

Aila snorted. “Albus Dumbledore, the man who sticks his crooked nose into far too much business that doesn’t concern him.” She took the application regardless, feeling the weight of the parchment in her hands. “Either way, I’ll fill this out tonight, and I’ll send it with Clyde in the morning before I open up the restaurant. But I think if you want my input for how to fix Hogwarts, I think you’ll need to tell me more about how things work. Starting with this House feud.”

Minerva sat back in her chair, tired, and told Aila everything.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

By the time they finished chatting, the bell tower at the end of Bysmuth Lane had begun to toll seven, and it was time for Minerva to start the long journey home to Hogwarts. Aila showed her to the floo, and with a flash of green flame, Aila was alone with just her thoughts again. After poking her head into the restaurant to make sure all was well, she quietly made her way up to the apartment, thick parchment packet in hand. All the busts had fallen asleep again, Thomas included, the green Quick Quotes Quill bobbing gently in the air. Clyde was nowhere to be seen, though he’d probably be home soon. Ospreys could only be domesticated just so much. Aila quietly placed Thomas in the case with all the others, carefully closing and locking the doors so as not to wake them. With a sigh, she made her way to the open balcony and flopped down into an armchair with a dramatic ‘phwump.’ She pulled the packet of paper from its folder, her eyebrows rising at the shear number of pages.

Most of the pages were a description of what Hogwarts supposedly stood for, along with Dumbledore’s personal goals for the school. Aila rolled her eyes through the entirety of it. From what Minnie had said, it seemed that the Headmaster’s heavy push for a Muggleborn-friendly school had come at the cost of peace between houses and had caused a heavy flow of prejudice against both Purebloods and Slytherins. After the exhaustive and wordy manifesto of sorts, there were also three separate non-disclosure forms, the signing of which, Aila noticed, had been charmed to be magically binding. And the rest of the thick packet, 12 pages in all, were all application forms. Aila grumbled and cursed under her breath, scrawling the same information in a ridiculous number of boxes. Four forms went to the Department of Education at the Ministry, two went to the Department of Employment and Finance, one went to Gringotts, and the remaining five were the actual job application. By the time Aila had found all the information she needed and filled out the seven forms for the Ministry, it was nearly midnight, and she was finding it very difficult to keep her eyes open and focused. Grabbing a piece of colorful parchment, she wrote herself a hasty note to stop by the Ministry tomorrow, and with that, she went to bed.


End file.
